Okra. The Other White Meat

I had to post this while it was on my mind....

Sixth grade. We had just moved to a new town and I had just started at a new school. It was middle school -- one of those periods in your life when being viewed a weirdo isn't exactly what you strive for.

One day, very early on the year, I'm standing in the lunch line and deciding what sides I want with my meal. There's a bowl of chicken nuggets. So, yeah, hey, I wanted some chicken nuggets to go with what I had on my tray.

Fast forward to a couple minutes later, I pick up one of the nuggets, take a bite out of it, and ..... WHAT IS THIS GROSS TASTE?

I take it out of my mouth, look at it, and see green. I'm not sure exactly what I said; I think it was something like, "This is no chicken nugget. It's green." Whatever I commented, it got laughs from the entire table.

In my own defense, how was I to know that what was completely breaded over and from the outside looked like a chicken nugget was actually not a chicken nugget and some kind of fried southern vegetable. I still shudder when I think of that taste. And I still can't eat okra.

Which leads me to....

My daughter absolutely loves okra. I don't get that. And I don't see how with my taste buds' disdain for it, she inherited a love of it. Of course, my wife likes okra. So that's where she gets it. 

Along with her love of cornbread. And for grits. Both of which I hate.

Oh well, I guess I'm raising a Southern girl who loves okra. Totally loves it. She eats it like it's candy. I just watched her devour an entire plate of it.

Yuck. Absolutely, yuck.

To her it's a treat. To me, it will always be the other white meat. That I don't eat.

So Long Mac - And Thanks For All The Burgers

It didn’t matter whether it was the weekend or a weekday, the question became familiar over the next four and a half years.

“What are we doing for dinner?”

“Harcombe (the college cafeteria)?” …. “Nah, not feeling it.”….. “Subway?”….. “Not in the mood for sandwiches”…. “Huddle House (another Clemson staple)?”….. “We just ate there last night at 1 am.”…. “Clemson House?”…. “Don’t want to walk up that hil”….

“Hey, have you guys heard about this place called Mac’s?,” somebody said.

“Yeah, actually. A guy at church was telling me about it. Said they have awesome burgers and that the guy who runs it is really cool,” I said.

Nobody had any idea where this place was. We just decided to go find it So we all piled in my friend Greg’s 1973 Monte Carlo known as The Battlewagon. Not quite recalling who all was with us, I’m pretty confident there were more people in the car than for whom there were seatbelts.

We drove around the city of Clemson (which really doesn’t take too long) a few times, not finding this place called Mac’s.

Frustration started to set in. So, finally, we decided to ask someone.

We saw a university police officer patrolling one of the lots, pulled up to his car, rolled down the window and asked if he knew where Mac’s is.

Image source: Anderson Independent-Mail, www.independent-mail.com

He joked around with us at first, asking us what was wrong with the school cafeteria, and why we wanted to go to this place called Mac’s. Finally he told us where it was.

So we went. And it was closed.

----

Mac’s Drive-In opened in 1956 in Pendleton by friends Dan Gentry and Harold “Mac” McKeown. Mac sold the restaurant a few years ago – but that didn’t stop him from still being a fixture there.

Mac died Wednesday night.

He was great guy and was a friend to everyone.

---

The first time I ate at Mac’s Drive-In was a few weeks after our adventure in finding it.

It’s kind of a small place. I just remember the first time I walked in there I was like “Wow. It’s like Clemson exploded on the walls in here!” But the experience is truly in sitting at that counter and taking the environment of the diner in.

There are photos dating back to the early days of Clemson;almost all are photos of Clemson sports, and as you might imagine, most of those were of Clemson football players – of yesteryear and of present day. Many were autographed.

“How you boys doing today?,” he said as we entered.

We sat down at the counter. Now this was not the type of place where you ask for the menu. You just know you’re going to get a burger. And you don’t necessarily have to say that’s what you want.

“Cheeseburgers all around,” said one of my friends.

There were only a few other people in the diner at the time, but for the time being, Mac was welcoming us and asking us if it we were freshman. As if he didn’t know.

I’m sure the flag went up when we walked in the door and our jaws dropped open at the love for Clemson all over the walls. Yeah, we were Mac’s newbies alright.

I told him that Clff, the guy from church I mentioned earlier, had told me about Mac’s Drive-In. Cliff played on Clemson’s 1981 national championship team.

“How’s ol’ Cliff doing?,” he asked.

That was just Mac. He knew all the Clemson players. He was friends with all Clemson students. He knew when it was your first time there. Over time, he watch as those same students graduated, became parents, brought their children to his diner to introduce them to this place, this food, and this man; and the cycle repeated. It's a Clemson family thing. It's just feels right.

I don’t know whether he ever picked up on my name. I ate there enough that he probably began to call me “ketchup and pickles.” While I’m just humorously speculating on that, that’s seriously what I would get on every burger – and I still do.

I just know it’s a very special place, run by a very special man - a person who would welcome you as you came with a “Hey guys” or “Hey there big man” – something along those lines. Maybe not immediately. He may have been behind the grill at that particular moment. But once he saw you, he would always greet you.

I know there’s no way I can count how many times I went to Mac’s and how many of his delicious burgers I consumed.

I remember occasionally going in on a Monday and he would be leaning against the counter having conversations with his patrons about the game that had just been played two days before. That was always really entertaining.

The visit usually was a result of that question “What are we doing for dinner (or lunch)”?

Mac’s Drive-In is just one of those places that helped make my Clemson experience memorable - and so did Mac. As the place and the man did with countless other Clemson students.

All I know is that the diner better live in on Mac’s name. What a tribute it would be to the man if it was still around in another 100 years.

Your Tiger family will miss you Mac. So long – and thanks for all the burgers.

It's Just That Time of the Year

I saw them before they saw me, so I was already formulating a response as I approached the entrance to the grocery store. As I got closer, I realized they were just setting up their table.

The setup served for a bit of a distraction because I always feel bad saying "no" as I'm walking into the store to buy something else.

So I picked up some cash from the self-checkout and made my way to the door, knowing full well what my response would be when approached.

It's always the same routine, year in year out. Usually. Except this time, before they had a chance to approach me, I approached the three little girls and their adult leader who were out braving a blistery cold Saturday morning in February.

"I guess it's cookie time again, isn't it?," I said.

"Yes sir," one of the girls replied. "Would you like to buy a box?"

"Well, I'd like to buy about 10 boxes but I only have $5 in cash and you don't take credit," I thought.

My mom used to be a Girl Scout leader. During cookie time each year, our house would become cookie central. Hundreds of boxes. Thousands of cookies. Alot of them were staged in my room -- which in itself could have been a recipe for disaster, had a I not been threatened to have my allowance docked for every box of cookies I ate.

Knowing they change types sometimes, I asked what all they had. The little girls in the Brownie uniforms each took turns rattling off the list of cookies.

Then I took a moment and looked at the boxes, saying "Hmmm..... I'll take a box of.... Caramel DeLites."

One of the girls excitedly said "I KNEW you were going to say that."

Another handed me a box of the cookies, as I handed the third my money. Their leader watched and listened as they counted to make change and then reached for their bag of quarters. As the girls did the math, their leader began to open up the cash holder.

"I'll take the quarters," I whispered to her. I have my own reasons. I still trying to finish off my state quarter collection and am lacking two.

And so as one of the girls handed me my change, quarter by quarter, they all in unison counted "25 cents, 50 cents, 75 cents, 1 dollar, 1 dollar 25 cents, 1 dollar 50 cents. Thank you sir!"

"Thank you ladies," I replied. "I hope you sell a lot of cookies - and stay warm also."

I have a weakness for Girl Scout cookies, that is three-fold.

• They're just good. You just can't eat only one. And usually I go for an entire row out of the box at a time.
• I know what it's like to be a kid selling something outside of a business. My Boy Scout troop used to sell Krispy Kreme donuts outside of a bank in Troutman, NC when I was in middle school. It was always on a Friday - that way we could catch people as they were depositing their checks - or stop people from driving off out of the drive thru by walking up to them with a box of donuts in hand.
  
• Girl Scout cookies are just good.
  

OK, so that's only really a two-fold weakness.

I did restrain myself today as I was coming out of the hardware store today and avoided the Girl Scout cookie table set up by the entrance. But the box of Caramel DeLites is already gone - and I need another one.

I guess I better have some cash with me next time I see a table -- I know I will sometime soon. It's just that time of the year.

Dairy Queen is King

They reopened the Dairy Queen near where I work. When I read about the reopening in the newspaper, I was admittedly really excited.

I was pumped last week to be able to go grab a DQ burger for lunch. This same restaurant shut down a little over a year ago. Around that same time, the other two DQs in our general vicinity closed also. I was livid.

DQ is tops on my fast-food burger list, followed by Wendy's, and then probably Steak and Shake. All the others are pretty much tied for nasty.

So a coworker and I went and grabbed some DQ that day last week when I found out about its reopening. He and I wolfed down our burgers. Then it was ice cream time -- we were literally like 4-year olds in a candy store. Peanut buster parfait, oh yeah - that thing has my name on it. So good....

The thing that is so awesome about DQ is the soft serve ice cream. My wife thinks traditional ice cream is the best. So we really don't see eye to eye on ice cream preference. I love soft serve ice cream. McDonald's is alright in a pinch. But Dairy Queen is King.

Plus I have an affinity for DQ (well, soft serve ice cream as a whole) that goes back to probably when I was four - maybe earlier. An acquaintance of my dad's from long ago, in the age before the Atari, ran a DQ in their hometown. The cool thing about his franchise location was that he had an Apollo command module parked out front. I used to love going to get an ice cream cone and check out the CM. Of course, we had another favorite ice-cream stand along the main highway running through town that had soft-serve. One of my favorite things about road-tripping during the spring and summer was stopping there. That ice cream stand has long since disappeared, but the memory of it remains.

Fast-forward to today... as I'm leaving work, it was just hot. Sweltering. Something had to be done. As I'm about to pull out of our main parking lot at work and go straight to the road across, something told me to turn left instead and take my secondary route home. I wasn't quite sure what caused me to do that.

So to the left I went. Was going down the road, and then I came up to the turn to the DQ. It was then that I knew why I made that left turn -- it's ice cream time, baby.

Three minutes later I was going down the road with a vanilla ice cream cone in my hand. DQ soft serve ice cream -- so good.

Being Laughed At Isn't Always Bad

It's springtime here in Upstate South Carolina so we're already hitting temperatures that are upwards of hot. When the weather starts to warm up like this, I like to roll the car window down on my way home from work so I don't have to run the A/C and have my gas mileage get eaten up.

Granted I was already kinda hot from having spent an hour or so running back and forth across campus right before I left to come home on Thursday....

So a few miles from work I stopped at a Little Cricket that I am starting to frequent to buy my standard Mello-Yello for the ride home.

This must be a stop for a lot of manufacturing workers or contractors because I see alot in there when I swing by there on my way home. Today, there were quite a bit more than usual and the line was about six or seven people deep.

But that's really beside the point and not really relevant to the point of this post, which I'm getting to.

OK - so here I am standing in line, right beside the ice cream treats case. I happen to look down and I see they have frozen Snickers ice cream bars.

I love Snickers. Second to Reese Sticks, they're my favorite type of candy bar. And to have it with ice cream -- that's some gooooood eatin'

"Oh, snap!," I said out loud with a big grin.

The lady behind me starts laughing. I looked back at her, and she just kinda looks at me, laughs some more, and says, "It ain't every day you see a grown man get excited about ice cream."

I like making people laugh. And that usually manifests itself in the form of sarcasm/smart-ass remarks, which in unknown company isn't always the best route. There are certain people I know appreciate my sense of humor or with whom I can get away with saying something smart and not being looked at like I'm a moron.

So I really felt good that I made someone laugh, even though I'm sure she was thinking I was acting like a child. Being laughed at in that type of situation isn't always that bad. It's actually rather enjoyable.

So What If I'm Picky

I went in to the Arby's down the street for lunch today. I placed my order -- and right before the cashier totaled it up (mind you, this was after she yelled to the cook that I had ordered a grilled chicken and bacon sandwich), I asked: "That doesn't have honey mustard on it, does it?"

Of course it did. I don't like mustard. So I told her I didn't want any on it, and instead wanted mayonaise. She yelled that back to the cook and gave me a look of disgust. I could see the cook give me a similiar look as he threw the buns away that he had already lathered with mustard.

My wife hates, but at the same time, doesn't understand the way I eat.

I don't like tomatoes. Period. I love ketchup. But just not tomatoes. I will pick them out of anything they're in -- even if they're diced. I will spend as much time as necessary to get all the tomatoes out of even spaghetti sauce or take them off of pizza. When I eat salsa, I make it a point not to get any of the chunky stuff on my chips - just the juice.

I DO NOT like any of the following: mustard, avocado, guacamole, olives, tomatoes, asparagus, artichoke, refried beans, spinach, red peppers, sour cream, cabbage, blue cheese, or cream cheese. I know there are some other things, but my brain is kind of fried right now and I can't name everything.

When I order things that I think will have any of the above in them, I will ask for them not be put on/in. If any of the above are on/in my food, I will pick it out or scrape it off before eating it. If I can't get it all off or out, I just won't eat it. It doesn't matter to me whether I'm at a restaurant or a friend's house or here at work. The one exception I will make is if I'm have a meal with people I don't know, at which point I'll reluctantly tolerate it.

What I have on my Pizza, mexican foods, and salads are probably the things that I am the most picky about. When my salad comes out with olives and tomatoes, I pick them all out and my wife shakes her head in bewilderment.

I went to Taco Bell the other day -- I asked for a steak quesadilla, beef burrito, and soft taco -- each only with meat and cheese. Again, I got one of those looks.

When I was working for my previous employer, we went to a rather posh restaurant in downtown G-Vegas one night called Soby's. After I looked at the menu, I decided that I am not getting anything I cannot pronounce so I ordered a steak --- and when I ordered it, I said something to the effect of "I don't want any garnishments or crazy seasonings on it, so can you just put a plain piece of steak on the grill and leave it a little red in the middle." To which one of my coworkers, a supervisor of sorts, says to me (again, something to the effect of) "This is not the type of place where it is suitable to do that. Please next time just order something and deal with it."

The thing that I think people have a hard time grasping is that I will not eat something I know I don't like or is seasoned with something that I don't like. It just ain't gonna happen. The same thing with clothes -- although I don't eat those.

The thing with clothes is that if I don't like it, I'm not gonna wear it. Period. This also drives my wife insane. When we go shopping for clothes, I do appreciate my wife's opinion very much because she's a much better judge of what goes with what. But, again, she'll pick out something that she likes and says 'I think this would look good on you' and 75% of the time I'm just like "Yuck, I am not wearing that." And about 75% of the time when I try to pick out clothes for my self, my wife is like "Yuck, I don't like that." So as far as clothes go for me, we end up agreeing roughly 25% of the time.

I'll admit I'm picky. Hands down, I'm picky. That's just me. So what.